[Doctor Who: S9E10.]

Türkçe versiyon aşağıda.

Normally, I take notes of the tv shows I watch in Turkish. Yeah, "taking notes" is basically writing a little review of them in my dictionary except not really structured and on the go emotion based. Here I am, after Doctor Who S9E10's Face the Raven, still teary eyes, my hands pushing the letters loudly with the background music The Hanging Tree. I wrote a short piece in Turkish. Then, I realized how infuriated I was and made a rough translation of what was going on in my mind. 

ATTENTION: Not only contains spoilers for the episode titled "Face the Raven" of Doctor Who, but also includes major spoilers from all seasons, especially on the ends/farewells of companions and doctors. If you haven't watched all seasons until 9, proceed at your own risk.

Also, it contains a spoiler from S2E8 of Walking Dead episode titled "Nebraska". Don't ask why, you'll get it. Just be careful if you don't want to mess up a fall finale, that's all.

oh my stars! here we go:

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it’s been a long time since I had the chance to write in my blog. When I had the time, I preferred to use such free time to watch. Nevertheless, I simply cannot stop myself from writing on doctor who season 9 episode 10.

Btw, just to be clear, by writing I refer to this process in which I wiped my tears, washed my face, stared into the void. I am infuriated. I won’t sleep; I’ll curse for a while. Such a shame!

It is hard for me to summarize the whole season at this point until which I didn’t write. However, one must say: we all watched Clara becoming fearless, reckless, doctor-like brave. In all those episodes, death was mentioned somehow. In all those episodes a reference was made to a Clara running towards her own death. In all those episodes we asked ourselves: is it us or is she really dead? In any case, we thought that Clara was going to leave in this season. We got that point. Me, I believed that she was already gone until I saw her open her young eyes in the xmas special. Thus, it was clear that with one more season on the go, she was sure to leave. Yet, this was not the way.

This is not to say that she wasn’t supposed to die.

I just want to say that a character whom we called salvage of a lifetime should have gone in a different way. Accepted: all those reckless behavior caused a trouble that she could not overcome. Dare I ask: didn’t she deserve more than 3 minutes?

When rose tyler left, she had her mom, father, lame ex-boyfriend. She even had the human doctor later on. She had seen david thereafter, she was even seen as the bad wolf to the war doctor. They closed the crack in the universes.

Martha gave herself up to unit business in the world and finally saved us from her hopeless love. (yeah, I didn't like her anyway.)

Donna’s leave was one of the most heartbreaking ones. Even then, the doctor held his hands on her head, somehow providing some unconsciousness and left her to the safety of her family’s house. When she opened her eyes, her beloved ones were there. Her adventures were not there but she had people around. Donna became the most important woman in the universe for a moment.

The farewell of the ponds was very abrupt as well. However, I do not accept the fact that they left the show by dying since Amy just followed Rory to the past and we only saw their tombstones after they had their happy life. Maybe, with that epilogue, they saved the doctor from himself.

River ended in the library. As she waited with her white dress, she kissed the doctor goodbye in the name of the doctor. To ask and to respond to the question of what did River do for this universe… not even necessary for a second. she was brilliant.

What about the doctors?

While leaving, 9th saved Rose and fantastic’ed his way out of the screens.

10th screamed I don’t want to go but we all sang for him, he even saw Rose in his last night on the street.

Should I even mention the 11th? There she was, Pond, saying goodbye to her raggedy man.

War doctor pushed the button while knowing that he was not causing a disaster.

I don’t know about the 12th’s ending but it doesn’t seem like he will be going with blood and tears.

Did we really have to see the screaming death of Clara with the raven getting inside her? Why, really? What was the purpose? Was it worth it, stopping people from saying that the main characters never die? Or was it a reacting to the doctor-like Clara, to a woman as it is mentioned all over internet? Ponds left one after the other, but why did Clara had 3 minutes?

I am miserable at this point. I cried my eyes out while watching this episode. I felt that the crying was not due to despair but a badly written ending of a masterpiece arc. A terror as if Sophia was coming out of the barn in walking dead filled me. So tell me, really, when you edited in the impossible girl of Murray Gold, did we not hear that scream? Didn’t the doctor who we love witness the screaming death of maybe his favorite companion? will we ever forget that sadness in his eyes? will he?

Shame on you and your show that you write.

I have no idea how this will be wrapped up. You bid farewell to the salvage of a lifetime with the epic fail writing of all time. I was one of those people who could not help but love Clara despite her Danny Pink shit, tears, bossy attitude, know-it-all cockiness, and reckless stupidity.

She was the genius girl within a dalek who said I’m not a dalek, I’m a human. I’m Clara.

She was the one to save all the doctors.

She was a simple girl who was trying to save the man she loved from death, showing us the human side of all of us if we had the chance to meet the doctor.

I am miserable. I think I’ll pass the next week and finish with the last two episodes all together. I think I won’t be able to handle another to be continued. My only wish is for Moffat and his cocky attitude to get the fuck out of the show. If the show is going to get a renewal with him, I wish that it wouldn’t receive it.

I don’t want to continue this adventure that I started in high school with his team.

I want a bitter ending but a great scenario. Is it really too much to ask for heaven’s sake?

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uzun süredir yazmaya fırsatın olmadığı, ya da boş vaktim olduğunda izlemeyi tercih ettiğim dönemlerin ardından biraz önce doctor who'nun sezon 9 bölüm 10'ü üzerine hızımı alamadan yazacağım.

yazmaktan kastım da gözyaşlarımı silip yüzümü yıkayıp yarım saat boyunca çöküp kaldıktan sonraki süreçten bahsediyorum evet. sinirden ellerimin titrediği, uykularımın kaçtığı, küfrettiğim bir süreçteyim. yazıklar olsun.

bir süre sessiz kaldıktan sonra burada koca bir sezonun özetini geçmem zor olur tabii. ama şunu söylemek lazım: her bölümde clara'nın daha korkusuz, daha fütursuz, doctor-vari bir şekilde cesur olduğunu gördük. bütün bölümlerde ölümden bahsedildi. bütün bölümlerde clara'nın ölmeye koşmasına referans yapıldı. bütün bölümlerde acaba dedik öldü de haberimiz mi yok. yani işin özü biz bu sezon clara'nın gideceğini düşünmüştük. anlamıştık. öyle ki xmas special'ında onun genç olarak gözlerini açtığını görünceye kadar clara'nın gideceğine çoktan inanmıştım ben bile. yani bir sezon fazla kalmasıyla sonun geldiği kesindi. ama bu ayrılık olmadı.

hayır, demiyorum ki ölmemeliydi.

diyorum ki, salvage of a life time dediğiniz karakter farklı bir şekilde gitmeliydi. tamam reckless halleri üerine bir bela açtı ve bu sefer kurtulamadı ama allah aşkına 3 dakikadan fazla süreyi hak etmiyor muydu sizce clara?

rose tyler ayrıldığında yanında annesi, babası, mıymışı eski sevgilisi vardı. sonrasında human doctor'u bile yanında bırakmıştık. david'le tekrar görüşmüştü. war doctor'a bile görünmüştü bad wolf olarak. evrenlerin çatlağını kapatmışlardı beraber.

martha eziği kendini dünyadaki unit işlerine vermiş de bu ümitsiz aşkından bizi kurtararak gitmişti. (evet, kendisini hiç sevmezdim zaten.)

donna'nın gidişi belki de en kalp kıranlardan olmuştu. ama o zaman bile doctor ellerini onun başına koyup bayıltmıştı onu, ailesinin güvenli evine bırakmıştı. gözlerini açtığında sevdikleri yanındaydı. maceraları aklında değildi ama yanında birileri vardı. donna, bir an için evrendeki en önemli kadın oluvermişti.

pond'ların gidişi de çok kesin olmuştu. ama ölerek gittiklerini kabul etmiyorum. zira amy rory'nin ardından gitmiş, mutlu mesut hayatlarını sürdükten sonra mezar taşlarını görmüştük biz. beraberlerdi. belki de epilogue ile birlikte doctor'u kurtarmışlardı.

river ise bir kütüphanede sonlanmış, beyaz kıyafetleriyle doctor'u beklerken name of the doctor'da doctor'u öperek ona veda etmişti. river şu evren için ne yaptı diye sormak, cevaplamak... gerek bile yok yani. harikaydı harika!

peki ya doctor'lar?

9th giderken rose'u kurtarmış, fantastic diyerek veda etmişti ekranlara.

10th i don't want to go diye bağırmıştı ama hepimiz onun için şarkı söylemiştik, son gecesinde rose'u görmüştü sokakta.

11th'den zaten bashetmeme gerek var mı? pond yanı başında belirmiş, raggedy man diyerek veda etmişti.

war doctor felakete yol açmadığını bilerek basmıştı işte düğmeye.

12th'ın sonu ne olur bilmiyorum, ama o da kan barut gözyaşıyla gidecek gibi görünmüyor.

clara'nın içine giren kargayla birlikte çığlık çığlığa ölmesini görmeli miydik? neden görmeliydik? amacı neydi? başroller ölmez diyen insanları durdurmak için buna değer miydi? yoksa doctor vari olan clara'ya, bir kadına tepki miydi bu internetlerde yazdığı gibi? pond'lar birbirinin ardından gitmişti de, clara'nın neden 3 dakikası olmuştu?

çok mutsuzum. diziyi zırıl zırıl ağlayarak izledim. hıçkıra hıçkıra ağlarken bu çaresizliğin değil, dev bir hikayenin kötü yazılmış sonuna ağladığımı hissettim. sanki walking dead'de sophie o kulübeden çıkmış gibi bir dehşet yayıldı içime. ne yani, murray gold'un impossible girl şarkısını koyunca o çığlığı duymadık mı biz? sevdiğimiz doctor belki de en sevdiği companion'ın çığlık çığlığa can vermesini görmedi mi? onun gözlerindeki hüznü unutabilecek miyiz? o unutabilecek mi?

yazıklar olsun sizin yazacağınız diziye.

nasıl toparlanacak bu bilmiyorum. ama salvage of a lifetime'ı, epic fail writing of all time ile uğurladınız. clara'nın danny pink zırvaları, gözyaşları, bossy tavırları, bilmiş halleri, korkusuz aptallıklarına rağmen clara'yı sevmeye engel olamayanlardandım ben.

i'm not a dalek, i'ma human. i am clara diyen genius kızdı o dalek'in içinde.

bütün doctor'ları kurtarandı.

doctor'la tanışma fırsatımız olsaydı, hepimizin insan yanını gösteren, ölümden sevdiğin insanı kurtarmaya çalışan bir kızdı işte.

çok mutsuzum. sanırım haftaya izlemeyip topluca öteki hafta izleyeceğim. çünkü bir to be continued daha kaldıracak bünyede değilim. tek dileğim artık moffat'ın ve cocky tavırlarının bu diziden defolup gitmesi. onuncu sezon onunla uzayacaksa uzamasın istiyorum.

lisede başlayan bu macerama ben bu adamın yürüttüğü ekiple devam etmek istemiyorum.

acı son ama iyi bir senaryo istiyorum. çok mu allah aşkına çok mu?

[Loud and Bright.]

It's been a while since I felt so tired. Funny, I've almost forgotten how loud and bright the world could feel. 

I despise such light and noise. 

There, I said it.

[Cloud Atlas OST.]

I don't know which one makes me happier: seeing a director in the musical credits of a movie, or the musical supervisor credited also as a director. cloud atlas' soundtrack is dream like. though the movie is regarded as a chain of stories unfinished, or even inadequately-reflected-in stories, to me, it still stands  as a magical experience. this fact has been confirmed by the soundtrack itself.

after the movie, I searched the 'cloud atlas sextet' on youtube and what I got was excerpts from the movie trailer. however, as I managed to get my hands on the ost, I finally could witness the big picture. though some songs didn't give me the creeps I got at the movie, they generally reflect the feeling you experienced. especially the sloosha's hollow. it was so creepy, I had to change the song.

the first song that got me was the temple of sacrifice. soon as I read its name, I knew what it was. at least, where I pictured it would be. it's my bad that I didn't gave so much attention as to where our two characters were headed  -trying so hard to avoid spoilers here ehem- but again, I think the song was talking about that place. I could even say that I'm almost sure because of the title of the next song. it's a beautiful, emotional piece of music which showed me the souls in that temple.

it's time for 'all boundaries are conventions'. for this song, I have one simple comment. "if only Katherine could meet Sonmi". if only she could listen to this song and witness this movie. sure as hell that she would cry her eyes out, just like I do everytime I listen to her song in daytime. [Yes, daytime 'Katherine's letter causes tears in my system. Same song at night is a different story.] that circular melody which feels like wrapping all the stories is wonderful. moreover, you feel that it's still incomplete and one way or another, it will be completed. as the song comes to an end, you find yourself waiting - or shall I say expecting- for a complete, circular, all inclusive closing. and it comes. in the last piece.

here we are, in 'death is only a door' as I close my eyes, I can see that scene. I won't comment on it. but, with the strings in the song, I can here the doors closing. and a different world opening up. simply in awe. but one must note, it comes to an unsatisfactory end. if the next song wasn't cloud atlas finale, I wouldn't have appreciated it. to me, every song in an OST must have a closure of its own as it tells a story of its own.of course, I'm keeping 'all boundaries are conventions' outside of this generalization. because sometimes, when you have a circular story in your hand, you can complete your story in the time frame of the album. but this song, it should have had a definite closure. on a different note, I also appreciate it. because when a door opens, it's the beginning of a new story, thus creating a loophole of endless stories.

again, I would like to emphasize this: I love circular stories!

and finally, the 'Cloud Atlas Sextet for Orchestra'. everything comes to a perfect end with this song. not only all the stories are interlinked, the music and the themes that are composed for the characters are bounded to each other, too. also, listening to this song, I can relate to Luisa, when she found that record in a record store. brilliant, yet unknown. just like I feel everytime when I listen to the brilliant soundtrack of a movie that I lose my sleep over. though it is not anywhere near legendary james horner or gabriel yared or millions of composers I cannot include in this writing simply due to their number, this album still echoes the events in the movie in my mind. which is what is most important for me.

thank you, cloud atlas. you really made me imagine what's beyond. I can't wait to finish the book.

['My turn' as Nina once put it.]

For more than a decade, I've been a fan of Aerosmith. But only now I realize why that outward cry of Steven Tyler gets me. Everytime he screams his heart out with a feeling that sounds like anger, betrayal and even regret, the words of love, passion and joy pours out of him.

What happens between the moment when you desperately have to act in a certain kind of way you desire and the moment you realize that in fact you wouldn't have to do what you did and what's worse, you mustn't have done that? What exactly brings you to the verge of regret? Is it listening to your inner gut, which makes you feel the shame? Or another person's exclamation points in his/her voice? Or a simple trigger that gets you unprepared for what you are about to bring upon yourself? The lighting in a room, a verse in a song, an unfeeling kiss from a stranger, a long lost passion hidden in the eyes of an ex-lover or worse, that unfeeling kiss you couldn't give even though you always thought you could.

Steven Tyler with his brilliant words and protesting idea of rock -to me at least, I'm not a music critique afterall- sings out the life itself. Each note can claim to be that moment where you started to feel the conquest of regret upon your soul. Each comma can take the form of a bullet, shot right through your heart, with a simple trigger mechanism put into action right before that comma.

Just as I have witnessed in a beautiful play this evening, listening to his music, I can feel that I'm right there/here with blood running down my chest. It's not much -the amount of blood I mean- as when you are shot at your heart, no more blood is pumped to your body. But still, your heart stays warm for a little longer as if you're alive.

And there, it dawns on you. That moment of truth when you realize that your insecurities of which you were sure kept you away from the reality you were supposed to live -if you were courageous enough that is- are in fact true and showed you the right way to act in a certain moment.
Another perfect moment when you realize that above mentioned feeling with good memories tingling inside, but not dread surging and overwhelming your soul.

In a world where every man acts for himself, we walk alone on the surface of the earth. What matters is whether you'll walk whistling with plugs in your ear, listening to the songs of the people who actually had the courage to live and write them, or whether you'll open yourself up and hear the other whistlers to make your own harmonic piece of music. It doesn't matter whether it's good or bad as it's yours and yours only.

I can't shake that taste of iron in my mouth today. So be it. At least, it's my piece of music, eh?

[Post Cloud Atlas.]

[As I reflect more and more, it seems like more and more updates are on the way.]

First things first. This is not a critique of Cloud Atlas but a practice of memory for me as if I have to get these on my notes so that I won't fail that 40 point question which designates the destiny of the exam. One may ask though: what kind of an exam are you talking about? In a nutshell, it is an exam against time itself. You desperately try to pass it, but like water, time always prevails. As the food turn into dust, buildings get cracks, plants grow and life ages, and time -like water that waits and always gets in- slips through these cracks and let the memories fade. Away. Like the lost sock in the machine phenomena, we can never get to see where those memories go. Thus, I'd like to keep things line, here, just after 20 minutes as I finished watching it. 'Sleeping over it' seems impossible to me right now. I'm afraid letting go of my consciousness may result in slipping away of some good details that struck me.

ownership. just as the english patient once told K, I hate ownership. not in a connotation of 'I'm yours' or 'you're mine' loving kinda way but simply in its first meaning: to have something, to gather it for yourself and not letting the others have it. not having the possession of a pen let's say, but owning the idea of pencil. to me, it is the reason why people cannot realise that 'we're the countries, not the boundaries on maps' thinking about this movie, reflecting about it made me realize something very crucial about the technology. last week, I had a terrible nightmare. as I was going to bed, I had no idea that I'd be having such a nightmare, no. but if I had to have a nightmare, it would be that night where I practically lost my mind watching a horror series. however, the unexpected blow came from another series I got addicted on. ın my terrible nightmare, the elecricty went out. or at least we heard it would. what was terrifying was that we didn't care about the electricty, we were together as a family. it's just that we all waited in our balcony waiting for that inexplicable snow storm and then, everywhere would go all white. I remember, putting up 3 sets of socks and 5-6 sweatshirts coats and all. I couldn't warm myself up. and everytime that white eternity fell, we tried to change our place so that we could get warm I guess. all night long, in every change of place, I woke up. I jumped up. feeling helpless, knowing every other possible way but not being able to use them, benefit from them. god, it still takes my breath away. so much that I nee to pause to get some fresh air. so... this movie made me realize that when we own the power, the technology, the knowledge, we are inclined to forget about the past where we lived without them. we tend to forget that there are in fact some tribes which do not know what electricity is. but in the movie, our perspective was that tribe. we were that tribe. seeing all those devices and treating the strangers as goddesses. how small can a human be? how helpless and ignorant can we ever become? I'll never forget the gaze of the valley people to the ship. and more so, calling us, the wise ones. I hope we can leave a better future for the future.

that sentence, that on sentence got me. right at that instant where I still struggled with the movie and the characters and the expectations about the end of the movie, I knew that I was going to love it. an unfinished book saddens me like an unfinished romance. or a similar sentence I guess, I may remember it wrong, or better, I may have changed it into something that is in accordance with what my mind, soul or heart told me to do so. that half of a book, which perfectly finished the story in a place where everything is quite unfinished gave me such hope that it was going to be alright. even though, it wouldn't be.

sonmi. oh sonmi... you were so different, so indifferent but so caring. so defiant. I would never ever give out any details about your story. never. it was one of a kind story really. so classic. so standard. so different. all, at the same time. your posture made me cry. you reminded me of a friday night, when I cried my eyes out for a revolutionist boy, just before his story was coming to an end in gallows. as his last words in the letter he wrote to his family was read, my heart stopped. today, we talked about the infamous 21 december. I realized that I never really gave it much of thought to it. just as I started to think about what would happen, and even try to designate a place to meet with my sister, in case the telephones died, my insides burned. my brain overflooded. no, at the face of death, I can't imagine myself so strong. shaking my head right and left, I think it is best I immediately leave this paragraph and jump into the next. or I'll start talking about the 'ship' that scene will linger in my memories. I hope I'll forget but at the same time, I never want to.

to lighten up the air, let me get out some words about 'Mr. Smith' god, this man always did and always will give me the creeps. that hideous man, have you no soul? that fierce eyes and all. god, it was so creepy. creating the idea of devil for a movie like this is expected, but a devil which is probably green with envy, sneaky with that voice and resistant to gravity, that's a bit too much to handle. I tried to close my eyes but then again, I heard him which was enough. that nails. the hat. oh my, that cannibal tribe with the make up. speaking of the bad guys, I have to mention susan sarandon. about her characters, just like the other characters I intend not to mention, were good. the thing that got me that is worth mentioning was the blue eyes. just as she 'saw' the prophecy. it was one of a kind scene. I love supernatural series and movies (except when I don't hide under the beds during those). I'm a proud fan of Jossverse. Just out of curisity, I even watched all the seasons of charmed. opened up my mind about magic. read about it. wrote about it. but never in a million years it has occurred to me to change the colors of the eyes of the seer. wow. congrats.

[Post Skyfall *Spoiler Alert*]

charlie's angels is supposed to be the movie where I enjoy seeing the characters jump up and down, carrying on without a scratch and still make it to work on time. it seems like james bond has taken over such duty beyond the point of action, right across the bridge to logic and hand in hand with stupidity. and you don't enjoy it. being a suited up super hero is something, but falling into an ice lake and coming out of the water with jokes and all is something different. seriously guys, on the 50th anniversary, have you considered where you've taken bond to? I can live with another M for sure, especially when new M is ralph fiennes. but puh-lease, letting go of judi dench with a bullet / or something from a gun with another bond-ish name is unacceptable! seriously, pull your shit together. I'm not a big fan of bond, yet I've always enjoyed that man with his fancy gadgets and neatly cut suits. in this movie, all we've got was lots and lots of suits, unshaven bond and a gun. oh, and the radio. big game. disappointment would be middle name of bond. shame on you, for taking me to a place where I rooted for the bad guy who by the way was javier bardem. no words for him though. he was brilliant. even his chuckles made me appreciate his presence in the movie. now, another big issue. not to me, but for the bond legacy itself I think. where is the god damn bond girl who is supposed to get out of the sea, huh? all we could see was an alright-she-is-beautiful kinda woman and witness her death by the brilliant javier bardem. she is supposed to be the wow-now-that's-a-goddess kinda woman. besides, that so-called sex scene in the shower, boy, I've no words for it. no wait, I think I have something. boredom. yes. boredom.
also, about the name of the movie, I'm so disappointed. maybe the book itself was disappointing, but I highly doubt so. when you say skyfall, a plane comes up to my mind. or a literal skyfall just like before the opening credits. but all we got was an eerie mansion where bond grew up. ok. that's fine. I can accept it just like another 'rosebud' issue. one must note though, this movie is nowhere near citizen kane. by 'rosebud' I only intend to refer to little details that make up the whole movie. as I was saying, I can live with this 'rosebud' issue. but, naming the movie as such is a bit much, don't you think? especially when you don't give out any detail about the loss of bond. If only we could learn more about this place in the movie, I would've appreciated it as a viewer and not a reader of Bond series. 
about the part of the film which took place in Turkey, I'm furious about it. in complete awe that is. I can live with only using the name Istanbul in the movie, though some of the scenes were filmed in Adana. after all, Istanbul is the center which attracts the tourists the most. however, using a setting which shows this beautiful city just like another middle eastern city with lots and lots of spice bazaars is degenerate. all those wide angles about shanghai and what's its name island in all its glory with candles and all vs. impotent policeman in istanbul. If only we could have the chance to sue your ass guys, if only we had the chance. [sorry for getting all sentimental about this part, but again, from an inner perspective, it was simply unacceptable to digest it I presume.] oh, about that motorcycle chasing scene on top of Kapalıçarşı [Grand Bazaar], it was charlie's angels like, I kinda enjoyed it. But that train scene where Bond 'played' with a CAT and broke the top of the train full of passengers and ran after the bad guy, it was stupid. always and always, the viewer comes face to face with some scenes where they say 'OK, they -the government, the secret service or whatever- can handle this hush hush situation fine' but this, this was pushing way out of limits. I miss the good old bond in his Aston Martin on the ice field. so instead, I cheered for Javier Bardem when he blew up a hole to kill bond with a subway. I love bad guys. especially when they're javier bardem.
for two hours plus, I wasn't bored but felt like I was being ridiculed. though it is always a pleasure to watch glorious dame judi dench and her dark cold eyes and her expression in control and yet her loving manner for Bond, it was a pleasure to experience a blonde javier bardem with extensive bad ass-ery in his character, it was a pleasure to watch ralph fiennes in his role as the rock of MI6 with all the memories he left in me with all his movies, including harry potter where I literally cried when voldemort died. however, bond was disappointing as he was one step ahead of a talented super hero in a suit, but more like godlike man he pretended to be, which I didn't believe in, in year 2012. it was sad for me to watch another Brit legend shake the core of my imagination and perception of life and yet witness the legend of Bond fail my expections. such a waste...
lastly, about the music: adele, you're the best. I've been humming this song since that opening credits. seems like I'll be humming more. I wish you can be one of the bond songs that got through my skin in time, like 'the world is not enough' or 'goldeneye' 

daniel, I don't like you. to me, a blond bond is a joke. especially when he is chosen after pierce brosnan. it's a prank really. though you're a handsome guy, you're not the expected bond for me. movies are not helping you with this either. like in the first movie, where you fell in love, as it was the first story that gave you a lesson. but still, a bond falling in love just like us the mortals, oh how I hated you. as far as I can see from imdb you have two more films to go. I think I'll skip those unless ralph fiennes gets a major role in it. hope to see you in another not-bond movie.

that's all folks. I planned to write the thesis statement in English and then switch back to Turkish but I couldn't help myself. after all, this bull shit-tery must be heard by more who have expectations like me. glad to help.

[The English Patient by Michael Ondaatje.]

 For a long time now, I've been thinking about writing down these wonderful sentences. This is about it. Finally managed to do with the movie playing at the background. I imagine these sentences by themselves would tell you how much this book impressed me as a reader and a woman.

For the movie, I have many comments, every single one of them positive. No, not positive. Labeling a comment as positive would diminish the meaning of this movie to me. I'm simply left in awe everytime I watch it, everytime I listen to its soundtrack. (I prefer to drift to sleep with the music from English Patient for about a year or so. Imagine how much of an awe I should deeply be left in.) English Patient is about the most consuming love story, told in the best way possible: epic, dream-like and real.

That last scene when Almasy leaves the Cave of Swimmers holding Katherine in his arms, crying... It cannot be explained. Just. Witness that scene. You won't regret it. I promise.

Still, today it is water who is the stranger here. Water is the exile, carried back in cans and flasks, the ghost between your hands and your mouth. p.20

For echo is the soul of the voice excitin itself in hollow places. p.22

You have to protect yourself from sadness. Sadness is very close to hate. Let me tell you this. This is the thing I learned. If you take in someone else's poison -thinking you can cure them by sharing it- you will instead store it within you. p.47

To  rest was to receive all aspects of the world without judgement. A bath in the sea, a fuck with a soldier who never knew your name. Tenderness towards the unknown and anonymous, which was a tenderness to the self. p.51

She would law belladonna over his eyes [...] P.54

There are betrayals in war that are childlike compared with human betrayals during peace. The new lover enters the habits of the other. Things are smashed, revealed in new light. This is done with nervous or tender sentecnes, although the heart is an organ of fire. A love story is not about those who lose their heart but about those who find that sullen inhabitant who, when it is stumbled upon, means the body can fool no one, can fool nothing -not the wisdom of sleep or the habit of social graces. It is a consuming of oneself and the past. p.104

There's a painting by Caravaggio, done late in his life. David with the Head of Goliath. In it, the young warrior holds at the end of his outstretched arm the head of Goliath, ravaged and old. But that is not the true sadness in the picture. It is assumed that the face of David is a portrait of the youthful Caravaggio and the head of Goliath is a portrait of him as an older man, how he looked when he did the painting. Youth judging age at the en of its outstretched hand. The judging of one's own mortality. p.123

She likes to lay her face against the upper reaches of his arm, that dark brown river, and to wake submerged within it, against the pulse of an unseen vein in his flesh beside her. p.132

It is as though the surface were underlaid with steam-pipes, with thousands of orifices through which tiny jets of steam are puffing out. The sand leaps in little spurts and whirls. Inch by inch the disturbance rises as the wind increases its force. It seems as though the whole suface of the desert were rising in obedience to some upthrusting force beneath. Larger pebbles strike against the shins, the knees, the thighs. The sand-grains climb the body till it strikes the face and goes over the head. The sky is shut out, all but the nearest objects fade from view, the universe is filled. p.146

The desert could not be claimed or owned - it was a piece of cloth carried by winds, never held down by stones, and given a hundred shifting names long before Canterbury existed, long before battles and treaties quilted Europe and the East. Its caravans, those strange rambling feasts and cultures, left nothing behind, not an ember. All of us, even those with European homes and children in the distance, wished to remove the clothing of our countries. It was a place of faith. We disappeared into landscape. Fire and sand. We left the harbours of oasis. The places water came to and touched …Ain, Bir, Wadi, Foggara, Khottara, Shaduf. I didn't want my name against such beautiful names. Erase the family name! Erase Nations! I was taught such things by the desert. p.148

I don't think he loved the desert, but had an affection for it that grew out of awe at out stark order, into which he wanted to fit himself -like a joyous undergraduate who respects silent behaviour in a library. p.152

Half my days I cannot bear not to touch you. The rest of the time I feel it doesn't matter if I ever see you agin. It isn't the morality, it is how much you can bear. p.164

Sometimes when she is able to spend the night with him they are wakened by the three minarets of the city beginning their prayers before dawn. He walks with her through the indigo markets that lie between South Cairo and her home. The beautiful songs of faith enter the air like arrows, one minaret answering another, as if passing on a rumor of the two of them as they walk through the cold morning air, the smell of charcoal and hemp already making the air profound. Sinners in a holy city. p.164

There is a plant he knows of near El Taj, whose heart, if one cuts it out, is replaced with a fluid containing herbal goodness. Every morning one can drink the liquid the amount of a missing heart. The plant continues to flourish for a year before it dies from some lack or other. p.165

They are in the botanical garden, near the Cathedral of All Saints. She sees one tear and leans forward and licks it, taking it into her mouth. As she has taken the blood from his hand when he cut himself cooking for her. Blood. Tear. He feels everything is missing from his body, feels he contains smoke. All that is alive is the knowledge of future desire and want. What he would say he cannot say to this woman whose open¬ness is like a wound, whose youth is not mortal yet. He cannot alter what he loves most in her, her lack of compromise, where the romance of the poems she loves still sits with ease in the real world. Outside these qualities he knows there is no order in the world. p.167

What is the name of that hollow at the base of a woman's neck? At the front. What is it, does it have an official name? That hollow about the size of an impress of your thumb? p.172

Don't we forgive everything of a lover? We forgive selfishness, desire, guile. As long as we are the motive for it. p.182

Her husband was supposed to pick him up. The husband they had both loved until they began to love each other. p.184

Their bodies had met in perfumes, in sweat, frantic to get under that thin film with a tongue or a tooth, as if they each could grip character there and during lobe pull it right off the body of the other. p.185

At night, when she lets his hair free, he is once more an¬other constellation, the arms of a thousand equators against his pillow, waves of it between them in their embrace and in their turns of sleep. She holds an Indian goddess in her arms, she holds wheat and ribbons. As he bends over her it pours. She can tie it against her wrist. As he moves she keeps her eyes open to witness the gnats of electricity in his hair in the darkness of the tent. p.230

But if she asked him what colour her eyes are, although he has come to adore her, he will not, she thinks, be able to say. He will laugh and guess, but if she, black-eyed, says with her eyes shut that they are green, he will believe her. He may look intently at eyes but not register what colour they are, the way food already in his throat or stomach is just texture more than taste or specific object. p.231

When someone speaks he looks at a mouth, not eyes and their colours, which, it seems to him, will always alter de¬pending on the light of a room, the minute of the day. Mouths reveal insecurity or smugness or any other point on the spectrum of character. For him they are the most intricate aspect effaces. He’s never sure what an eye reveals. But he can read how mouths darken into callousness, suggest tenderness. One can often misjudge an eye from its reaction to a simple beam of sunlight. p.231

She had grown older. And he loved her more now than he loved her when he had understood her better, when she was the product of her parents. What she was now was what she herself had decided to become. p.234

In the desert to repeat something would be fling more water into the earth. Here nuance took you a hundred miles. p.245

This Candaules had become passionately in love with his own wife; and having become so, he deemed that his wife was fairer by far than all other women. p.246

I'm a man who fasts until I see what I want. p. 249

I sank to my knees in the mosaic-tiles hall, my face in the curtain of her gown, the salt taste of these fingers in her mouth. We were a strange statue, the two of us, before we began to unlock our hunger. Her fingers scratching against the sand in my thinning hair. Cairo and all deserts around us. p.251

The way a lover will always recognize the camouflage of other lovers. p. 252

She had always wanted words, she loved them, grew up on them. Words gave her clarity, brought her reasons, shape. Whereas I though words bent emotions like sticks in water. p.253

Death means you are in the third person. p. 263

I believe this. When we meet those we fall in love with, there is an aspect of our spirit that is historian, a bit of a pedant who reminisces or remembers a meeting when the other has passed by innocently…but all parts of the body must be ready for the other, all atoms must jump in one direction for desire to occur. p. 275

And all the names of the tribes, the nomads of faith who walked in the monotone of the desert and saw brightness and faith and colour. The way a stone or found metal box or bone can become loved and turn eternal in a prayer. Such glory of this country she enters now and becomes part of. We die containing a richness of lovers and tribes, tastes we have swallowed, bodies we have plunged into and swum up as if rivers of wisdom, characters we have climbed into as if trees, fears we have hidden in as if caves. I wish for all this to be marked on my body when I am dead. I believe in such cartography – to be marked by nature, not just to label ourselves on a map like the names of rich men and women on buildings. We are communal histories, communal books. We are not owned or monogamous in our taste or experience. All I desired was to walk upon such as earth that had no maps. p. 277

The Englishman once read me something, from a book: 'Love is so small it can tear itself through the eye of a needle.' p.306

[Extremely Loud Incredibly Close.]

Jonathan Safran Foer - Extremely Loud Incredibly Close.

I should probably thank Jay Leno for that Sandra Bullock interview. If it wasn't for that day, I wouldn't be aware of such treasure. Both the movie and the book strike you. Though they will not be my new obsession, (unlike English Patient) they are worth mentioning. First, you label them as a simple wave hitting ashore, then as time passes, the silent shock wave sinks in with a deafening light, blinding thunder. The following quotes got in deeper than I intended to let them in, so I took note of them, for my sake.  

“In bed that night I invented a special drain that would be underneath every pillow in New York, and would connect to the reservoir. Whenever people cried themselves to sleep, the tears would all go to the same place, and in the morning the weathermen could report if the water level of the Reservoir of Tears had gone up or down, and you could know if New York was in heavy boots. And when something really terrible happened - like a nuclear bomb, or at least a biological weapons attack - an extremely loud siren would go off, telling everyone to get to Central Park to put sandbags around the reservoir.” p.38

"that secret was a hole in the middle of me that every happy thing fell into." p.71

“Our laughter kept the feathers in the air.   I thought about birds.    Could they fly if there wasn’t someone, somewhere, laughing?" p.78

"When I was your age, my grandfather bought me a ruby bracelet. It was too big for me and would slide up and down my arm. It was almost a necklace. He later told me that he had asked the jeweler to make it that way. Its size was supposed to be a symbol of his love. More rubies, more love. But I could not wear it comfortably. I could not wear it at all. So here is the point of everything I have been trying to say. If I were to give a bracelet to you, now, I would measure your wrist twice."  p.79

"It’s a rule that we never listen to sad music, we made that rule early on, songs are as sad as the listener, we hardly ever listen to music." p.108

"I like to see people reunited, I like to see people run to each other, I like the kissing and the crying, I like the impatience, the stories that the mouth can't tell fast enough, the ears that aren't big enough, the eyes that can't take in all of the change, I like the hugging, the bringing together, the end of missing someone, I sit on the side with a coffee and write in my daybook, I examine the flight schedules that I've already memorized, I observe, I write, I try not to remember the life that I didn't want to lose but lost and have to remember, being here gills my heart with so much joy, even if the joy isn't mine, and at the end of the day I fill the suitcase with old news." p.109

"But a friction began to arise between Nothing and Something, in the morning the Nothing vase cast a Something shadow, like the memory of someone you’ve lost, what can you say about that, at night the Nothing light from the guest room spilled under the Nothing door and stained the Something hallway, there’s nothing to say." p.110

"Everything was forever fixed, there would only be peace and happiness, it wasn’t until last night, our last night together, that the inevitable question finally arose, I told her, “Something,” by covering her face with my hands and then lifting them like a marriage veil. “We must be.” But I knew, in the most protected part of my heart, the truth." p.111

the center of me followed her, but I was left with the shell of me p.113

"Sometimes I wonder if she knows, I wonder in my Nothingest moments if she’s testing me, if she types nonsense all day long, or types nothing at all, just to see what I’ll do in response, she wants to know if I love her, that’s all anyone wants from anyone else, not love itself, but the knowledge that love is there." p.130

"I'm sorry for my inability to let the unimportant things go, for my inability to hold on to the important things." p.132

“I knew I was about to destroy what she’d been able to rebuild, but I had only one life. I heard her behind me. Because of myself, or despite myself, I turned back, ‘Dont cry,’ I told her, by putting her fingers on my face and pushing imaginary tears up my cheeks and back into my eyes, "I know" she said as she wiped the real tears from her cheeks, ı stomped my feet, this meant, "I won't go to the airport." "Go to the airport,"she said, I touched her chest, then pointed her hand out toward the world, then pointed her hand at her chest, "I know," she said, "Of course I know that."p 135.

"The ax won! It's always that way." p.161

"Another reason it would be a good invention is that there are so many times when you know you're feeling a lot of something, but you don't know what the something is.” p.163

"Shyness is when you turn your head away from something you want. Shame is when you turn your head away from something you do not want." p.179

"You cannot protect yourself from sadness without protecting yourself from happiness." p.180

"Anyone who believes that a second is faster than a decade did not live my life." p.181

"How many hundreds of thousands of fingers brushing against each other doe it take to make love?" p.181

"It's the tragedy of loving, you can't love anything more than something you miss." p.208

thousands of people were left to suffer hope. p.215

"The boy covered his can with a lid, removed it from the string, and put her love from him on a shelf in his closet. Of course, he could never open the can, because then he would lose its contents. It was enough just to know that it was there." p.220

"Well, then why do you love everybody so much?" p.239

"I read something in National Geographic about how, when an animal thinks it's going to die, it gets panicky and starts to act crazy. But when it knows it's going to die, it gets very, very calm." p.256

I can forgive you for leaving, but not for coming back p.274

"Highs and lows make you feel that hings matter, but they're nothing. So what's something? Being reliable is something. Being good." p.297